The Way It Really Happened
by MissAnnThropic
Summary: Riker's search for answers uncovers more than just the events seen in the finale episode.


**Title:** The Way It Really Happened

**Author:** MissAnnThropic

**Spoilers:** These Are the Voyages

**Summary:** Riker's search for answers uncovers more than just the events seen in the finale episode.

**Disclaimer:** None of it's mine. If it were, you'd have seen this as the finale... no, actually, nothing even RESEMBLING TATV would have been allowed anywhere near an actual script for the show.

**Author's Note:** I vowed, after my last post-finale fic, that I wouldn't write any more of them. But I decided to break the rule for this one, because it was in a decidedly different vein than my other post-finale stories.

Oh, and you must forgive me any mistakes on the TNG side of things. I am not a TNG fan, only saw a few eps, and therefore may well have missed the mark with those characters!

**With much gratitude:** I want to thank my techno-lohtar, Sierra Phoenix, who makes posting of my fics possible, and to boushh for beta'ing this story for me. You guys are the best!

* * *

Will Riker remained on the holodeck long after Deanna Troi had left him to his thoughts. She was exceedingly good at knowing when someone's own company would be the best counselor.

He stood alone at the back of the auditorium watching the thousands of delegates, spectators, and dreamers birth the Federation as he knew it in the present 24th century. He'd never been much of an historian, not for this period at any rate, but as he recalled his recent hours spent reliving the last hours of the _NX Enterprise_'s commissioned life, he wondered why.

This time had a unique flavor to it, a shot of adrenaline and endorphins, and it taunted him with the kind of adventure and cavalier excitement he could never have. Those were the days when explorers were cowboys and the likes of Jonathan Archer ran headlong into danger with nary a thought to committees or regulations or juggling the needs of hundreds of races within the Federation.

Jean-Luc Picard accomplished little without a briefing with his senior staff.

Captains had certainly gone from frontiersmen to the men minding the store.

Riker could still see Jonathan Archer on the podium at the center of the grand room. He was only a spec and surrounded on all sides by colleagues, but Riker's eyes were drawn to him even in the masses. He wondered if that was a trick of the holoprogram designers or just an aspect of Captain Archer that was accurately captured.

He got the feeling that, had the chief engineer lived, Trip Tucker would have had that same charisma on the distant podium, too. He would have been another point of notice in a sea of humanity and alien species.

It wasn't hard to imagine how the two men had been friends.

Riker drummed his fingers on the balustrade before him and mulled over that, as well. Yet another difference then and now. Archer's time was back in the days when shipmates were fast friends. Riker thought highly enough of Picard, and he'd been known to socialize with him on his off hours, but it was nothing compared to the friendships forged centuries ago aboard starships. The likes of Jonathan Archer and Trip Tucker, James T. Kirk and Ambassador Spock.

That was a double-edged sword, though. Archer was putting on a brave show down there, gave the speech of his life that history lauded as in the league of Zefram Cochrane, but emotionally he was devastated. He had just lost his closest friend.

If Picard died, without question Riker would mourn his loss and he would genuinely miss his captain's style of command, but it wouldn't be like it had been for Archer to lose Trip or for Kirk to lose Spock. It wouldn't be like losing a brother.

The din of the thousands of attendants at the speech suddenly began to grate on the commander's nerves and made Riker turn away from the scene.

He should get back to the present and face his decision. He'd put it off too long already.

Riker was moving toward the archway, or where it would be when he called for it, when something out of the corner of his eye made him stop. He glanced down at an empty seat in the last row of the nosebleed seats of the auditorium. A program had been left behind by someone.

What made him pause in the first place Riker would never know, but when he spared more than a second to study the program he noticed the title on the black cover. Instead of a hopeful, vibrantly colorful 'WHERE IT ALL BEGINS' the plain white words read 'THE WAY IT REALLY HAPPENED.'

Puzzled, Riker picked up the program and frowned.

"This is something, isn't it?"

Riker whirled around at the voice to find, to his surprise, Jonathan Archer perched on the balustrade looking out over the auditorium. He was in his standard jumpsuit instead of dress uniform with hands clasped loosely together, one leg hiked up and only a single foot bracing him against the floor. He looked heroic, even doing as little as sitting on a rail.

Riker looked beyond Archer and saw... Archer, still in the center dais of the auditorium, still hob-knobbing with the Federations founders.

Riker returned his eyes to the man only a few feet from him.

Archer finally turned to meet Riker's stare. The captain smiled, his eyes twinkling mischievously. "You have no idea how much I hated that speech."

Riker edged closer, still baffled.

Archer, heedless to anything amiss, shook his head and chuckled. "It might not have been so bad if Trip hadn't talked it up into such a big deal." Archer's smile tempered, shifted into wise nostalgia. "Guess he was right, though."

Riker came up alongside Archer, still confused and watching.

Archer glanced over at him meaningfully. "Well?"

Riker's eyebrows rose. "Well what?"

Archer did a fair imitation of his Vulcan science officer, T'Pol. "Do you actually want to know what really happened?" He nodded in the direction of the program in Riker's hand.

The commander suddenly understood. "A backdoor program."

"A backdoor program," Archer confirmed casually. "Most people who come here never bother, just accept what they're presented without question, but for some... they're looking for the _truth_. If they look hard enough, they find it."

Riker fingered the program key and looked out over the auditorium. "But... there have been thousands of recreations of this day in history. You mean, this isn't how it really happened?"

"Oh, _this_ happened, it's probably historically accurate down to the last bit of confetti on the floor." Archer looked pointedly at Riker, "But you didn't initiate this program with the Federation ceremony in mind."

"The incident that claimed Commander Tucker's life," Riker said with certainty.

Archer nodded with a wry smirk.

Riker moved quickly closer. "He didn't die?"

"Of course he did."

Riker sagged.

"At the age of one hundred and two."

The commander's brain was buzzing with questions, with all the possibilities. How many people knew about this backdoor program? Did Deanna? Had she _known_ he would find this when he went poking around the early history of the Federation? He wouldn't put it past the crafty half-Betazoid. "Then... why does history say he died on the _Enterprise_ saving your life if it didn't happen? Why lie? And if he didn't die on _Enterprise_, what really did happen?"

Archer slid off the balustrade with the air of a boy at a playground and stood up alongside Riker. He gave the man an encouraging pat on the arm and gestured to the program. "If you really want to know, open the program."

Riker did.

The auditorium vanished, replaced by an arid desert landscape. Russet-colored sand spread all around them and a rosy sky hinted at dusk. The simulated gravity tugged at Riker's body, the regulated air thinned in his lungs, but the biggest clue was the enormous satellite in the western sky. Riker wasn't much of a galactic tourist, but he knew the landscape and skyline. T'Kut low over the Forge was a sight hard for anyone to forget.

"We're on Vulcan," he said to his companion. Archer had come with him from the auditorium. He was the only thing holographic to make the transition from Earth to the desert world.

"We're on Vulcan," Archer confirmed. Then he began walking.

Riker, bewildered, hurried after him. "Wait. Why did you bring me to Vulcan?"

"I didn't. You brought yourself. Or aren't you interested in the truth?" The captain's pace never slowed, a strong and direct stride. He knew just where he was going.

"All right," Riker matched strides with Archer. "So what really happened on _Enterprise_?"

"Gremlins."

Riker faltered. "Gremlins?"

Archer grinned. "Engine gremlins. I have to admit, though, I get a kick out of the way history made the 'gremlins' literal through a thousand tellings."

"You mean the aliens in the original history who boarded your ship, the ones Tucker blew up to stop? Those were really just _engine gremlins_?!"

"Yep. Guess it made a better story to say the big heroes were waylaid by vicious aliens than to admit we had engine trouble."

"So there really was an explosion on _Enterprise_?"

"Yes."

"But Commander Tucker wasn't hurt?"

"No, he was. He got a really nasty plasma burn from trying to shut off the power to the coupling so it could be dismantled and replaced. I think the tongue-lashing he got from T'Pol was worse than the burn, though. She'd advised against us allowing the Andorians to tie some of their personal items into our power lines to spare their portable power cells. Trip told her it wasn't neighborly to tell the Andorians to stick their cords where the sun don't shine. Trip's words, not mine."

"Andorians. Shran?"

Archer crested a dune and started downward with Riker close behind. "Yeah. We'd been guests at a maturity rite for his daughter, and then we invited them back with us to attend the conference. Of course, Andoria had official representatives that were going to be doing all the paper signing. It was just a social visit for Shran, and his little girl had never been on an Earth vessel before. Cutest Andorian I'd ever seen, too, and she had a real talent for picking up languages. She had English learned in no time at all; I think Hoshi was ready to adopt her by the time we reached Earth."

Riker spotted ahead what he could only assume was their destination. Nestled at the foot of a high canyon wall of red clay was a small home. A beige sehlat cub was digging in a vegetable garden but looked up and chuffed when it saw them. The cub took off in their direction at a lumbering gallop, all paws and legs that it hadn't grown into yet.

When they were closer, Archer stopped and knelt down. The cub ran faster and barreled into Archer. The captain landed back on his butt in the red dirt and laughed. "Easy, Teddy. You do that much longer and you're going to start giving people concussions."

Riker gave the pair on the ground a queer look. "Teddy?"

"Don't you think he looks like a teddy bear?" Archer pushed the cub off him, stood, and brushed off his uniform. "Trip did, in any case. Teddy, are Trip and T'Pol home?"

Teddy shook happily, ruffling his shaggy fur and sending up a cloud of red dust, then gave a strange screech and turned around to race back toward the house.

Archer motioned for Riker to follow him as he headed toward the house.

The home was not lavish by any means, but most certainly comfortable. It was cool inside and softly lit. The furniture was of human design; it was soft, cushioned, and large. Odd bits of machines lay about on various flat surfaces. An engineer's home. There were also PADDs scattered in precisely stacked piles around the living room. Riker glanced down at one and saw mathematical equations for calculating atmospheric pressure and composition. A scientist's home.

Teddy, who had pushed into the house with them, leapt on to the couch and rooted around in the cushions with paws red from his excavation work outside.

Archer looked around the house from the center of the living room. "Maybe they went into town."

"We're stocked up for at least a week," a third man said as he emerged from the hallway and joined Archer and Riker in the living room.

Riker recognized Trip Tucker, even if the young man wasn't in Starfleet clothing. He looked more like a mountaineer, bedecked in brown pants, a beige shirt, and leather boots. He'd been a desert-dweller for a while now... his skin was darker than Riker had ever seen it in photographs or holoprograms, and his hair even more sun-bleached, making him look almost silver-blond. His eyes were the same, though, bright, vivid blue and lively with energy. And he still had a mouth quick to smile, as so many of his history photographs depicted him.

"Teddy's digging up your garden," Archer stated by way of greeting.

Trip shook his head. "We have vermin, Teddy's just trying to help, but Phlox would call it a case of the cure being worse than the disease."

Archer laughed and crossed the room to embrace Trip. The two men hugged, parted, and Trip finally sized up his visitor. Riker waited almost uncomfortably.

Trip gestured at the furniture. "Care to sit down? I know the hike's a bitch."

"Ah, no, I'm fine."

Trip moved to the open kitchen area and grabbed a drink for himself and Archer out of a refrigeration unit. He held one out to Riker, but the commander shook his head. "The location was T'Pol's idea. It's some ancient family plot, so I couldn't really say much. I like it, though. Quiet." Trip took a drink, leaned back against the counter, and eyed Riker. "So... you're here to find out what really happened to me, huh?"

"I guess I am." Riker moved aside as Teddy came into the kitchen to see what his master might find in the cupboards.

"I can't believe history had it _wrong_," Riker said after a moment taking it all in. "The books all agree on what became of you."

Trip scowled. "You know, I'm continually insulted by how many people buy that lame story about how I bit the dust."

"Not many people access this program?" Riker asked.

Archer was the one to answer. "A few. It's been a while, so the numbers total up nicely, but all things considered... not many."

Trip idly scratched Teddy on the head. "We don't get many visitors, and those we do get are usually people looking for something. We get the people who never really thought the official story sounded plausible. To my dismay, most people seem to have bought it hook, line, and sinker. History will forever remember Trip Tucker as a total dunce. Ah well." Self-deprecatingly, he raised his drink to Archer at that and Archer, humoring him, lifted his drink in answer.

"When was the last time someone accessed this program?" Riker asked.

Trip rolled his tongue against the inside of his cheek and cast his eyes toward the ceiling. "Let's see... Amanda Grayson was... what, one hundred thirty years ago? Maybe, give or take half a century."

Riker knew the name. "Ambassador Spock's mother?"

Trip smiled knowingly. "_She_ was looking for something."

Archer shared his friend's wise smile.

Riker gaped at Trip Tucker. "So, what _did_ happen?"

Before Trip could answer, a high-pitched cry sounded through the house.

"I better get him before he wakes T'Pol," Trip said as he set down his drink. He pushed off the counter and waved his guests to follow him. "Come on."

Riker followed Trip and Archer through the small house to a large bedroom. A sleeping woman's figure had her back to the door and she did not stir as the three men filed in and made for a small bassinette in the corner of the room.

Trip reached down and lifted from the basket a newborn baby. The infant, swaddled in a pale blue blanket, kicked and mewed grumpily.

Trip cradled the baby gently to his chest. "Hey, now," Trip cooed in a soothing, soft voice, "What's wrong, Lori?"

Archer grinned. "Does T'Pol know you call him that?" he whispered.

Trip beamed. "Yeah, and I get a lecture on 'illogical nicknames' every time, but Lorian's kind of a big name for him right now. He can be Lorian as soon as he's bigger than a plasma injector. That's fine by you, isn't it, Lori?" Trip looked down at his son. The baby had stopped fussing and was gazing up at Trip with a very intent, very Vulcan look on his face. His little pointed ears and angular brows gave him a very sincere expression, even when a burbly smile broke out on his face. Trip chuckled and placed a kiss atop Lorian's wispy, dark hair. Trip tucked the baby against his shoulder and began to bounce on the balls of his feet.

Riker was transfixed.

Trip's attention was fully on his son a few moments before he glanced over at Riker. "Guess you've figured out that T'Pol and I never broke up, the way that farce of a holoprogram says we did."

"I get that impression," Riker said, casting a look at the sleeping woman.

Trip cupped the back of his son's head with a loving hand. "We made it look like we did; T'Pol and I knew when our tours of duty were over we wanted to get married, start a family." Trip's expression clouded. "After Terra Prime... after what happened with our daughter, Elizabeth, we were afraid for the safety of our future children." Trip paced a few feet back and forth in front of the bassinette, Lorian curled against Trip's chest and dozing comfortably. "T'Pol and I put one over on _everyone_. Even Jon believed we'd split up."

"I never did," Archer countered. "I saw through you two, but I knew you had your reasons for the act and I played along."

Trip snorted. "You went on believing we'd gone our separate ways right up until the day you got the wedding invitation."

Archer rolled his eyes. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, Trip."

"It's a _who_ that helps me sleep at night," Trip said with a wicked grin.

"You'd talk like that in front of your son?" Archer feigned shock.

Trip gazed down at his son. "Damn straight I would. I mean for my boy to know how much I love his mother."

"So you married T'Pol," Riker said, getting the two old friends back on track.

Trip nodded. "Best day of my life. Well, it might be second best now," Trip said the last with another soft smile down at his newborn. "Ah, hell, I couldn't pick between T'Pol and Lorian."

The sleeping woman shifted at their voices, rolled over, and Riker looked upon T'Pol's face as she slept peacefully. It was almost... awkward to see another man's wife, particularly a Vulcan wife, so content and vulnerable. It was as only a mate should view a Vulcan. This sight was for Trip alone.

Apparently Trip agreed. "Let's go back in the living room before we wake her."

Archer went first, then Riker, but Riker stopped at the doorway and glanced back long enough to see Trip round the bed, bend down to place a light kiss on T'Pol's brow, then follow them out of the room with Lorian still held to his chest.

In the living room, Trip resumed his story. "We moved into this place right after we left Starfleet. It was just what we needed. Remote. Private. We'd had our fill and then some of death-defying adventure. We just wanted to settle down and make a life together. Phlox put in with the Medical Exchange Program for a rotation at the Vulcan Medical Academy, which had him and his unmatched expertise conveniently close by as T'Pol and I started trying for a baby." Trip nodded at Lorian. "Meet success number one."

"How many children did you and T'Pol have?"

"Five."

Riker blinked, startled. "I didn't think Vulcans were believers in big families."

Trip smirked. "They're not. Numbers three through five were because I wanted them. But don't get it wrong, T'Pol loved every one of our kids." He smiled inwardly in amusement. "She never played favorites, but An'ela was her special girl." Trip's eyes glittered at the thought of his daughter. "She was the only one who didn't have the Vulcan ears."

Riker drifted toward a couch arm. "I always thought Ambassador Spock was the first Vulcan/human hybrid that lived to adulthood." Riker paled at the thought, "Did your... did your kids..."

"They lived," Trip assured Riker as he patted Lorian on the back absently. Then Trip gave a quirky smile. "Did you happen to notice who wrote the holoprogram you're in?"

Riker never paid a great deal of attention to holonovel authors or programmers. "Um... not really..." he pulled out the black program and looked on the cover. In tiny letters, below the bold-face letters of the title, a byline: "_Surven Tucker_."

Riker looked up immediately.

Trip nodded. "My youngest. Who better to tell the untold story of my family than my own son? Surven had a real talent for photonic science. Must have gotten it from his mother; I need something real and solid under my hands. You can tell me it _feels_ real all you like, but I'll still know it's photons and forcefields."

Archer chimed in before Trip got thoroughly lost in engineering, "Spock was the first child of a prominent couple. He was the first one to grow up in the spot-light. A high-rank politician like Sarek, ambassador to Earth..."

"The Tuckers had already faded into the woodwork by then," Trip said. "You should have checked the data archives on Vulcan. It's all there. My kids' medical records, educational files, career profiles, birth certificates, marriage records, death certificates... all in public records."

"It was all... it was always there?"

Trip nodded.

"How did it all go _unnoticed_? History says you _died_ on _Enterprise_."

"Human history does," Trip countered. He paused, then smiled. "We planted a few seeds along to way to give us some cover... human nature took over from there. Something T'Pol's taught me about my own species that is resoundingly true... things are only _really_ true to us as told through our perspective. Sure, it was there to be found on _Vulcan_, but humans like their own history books, their own heroes and their own revolutions. And Vulcans... they just don't get wound up by the quiet lives of a peaceful little family like mine. Half-human children weren't worth causing a sensation over, it is _illogical_. Besides that, we _did_ make an effort to keep our family life out of the public eye, to protect our children. Trust me, no one can respect privacy like Vulcans can.

"Even Amanda Grayson came here before she tried Vulcan historical records. It's just human nature."

"But don't you want the story to come out? The truth to be told?" Riker asked.

Trip shrugged. "Not really. It's here for anyone who's really looking. People who need to know find the backdoor eventually. I don't really want it to become a big, public matter. I have great-grandchildren living in your time; I don't want to deny them a peaceful life if that's what makes them happy. They know what they are, and where they come from. I don't need every Dick and Jane to know. In the grand scheme of things, it's neither here nor there."

Riker dropped his gaze, mind a blur of thoughts.

Trip stepped closer to the man. "Will..."

Riker looked up at Trip Tucker, naturally dressed for the desert with a half-Vulcan son cradled to his chest.

"You asked what happened?"

Riker nodded.

Trip began to smile. "I lived happily ever after."

END


End file.
